


akechi goro's terrible horrible no good very bad golden week

by canticle



Series: a tornado full of barbed wire [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: AH YES, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Genderswap, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/M, Voyeurism, casual nudity, how could i forget that tag, the whole cast is flipflopped, unabashed thottery, useless furious lesbian akechi goro's fixation with kurusu akira's breasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: Size doesn't matter. No, really, it doesn't. Akechi's not self-conscious. Not in the slightest. She doesn't have a problem with her breasts. Shedoeshave a problem with Kurusu Akira's, however, other than the fact that they're attached to her in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have no explanation for you either, just, _gestures_ world Cold, girls Hot, tiddy Soft, watch Netflix. sexswaps are a guilty pleasure of mine and i'm shocked its taken this long for me to do one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided not to tag every char/ship but heads up akira fucks everyone

If she’d known that winning the competition in their criminal justice class would lead to sharing what was  _ supposed  _ to be a rejuvenating hot springs trip for Golden Week with Kurusu Akira and five of her closest friends, Akechi would have tanked the fucking thing on the spot.

(No, she wouldn’t. Her innate sense of competition is far too strong for that; Akechi  _ hates  _ to lose. But she  _ definitely  _ would have said no when Kurusu batted her eyelashes and told her that she’d have a couple friends staying in her room in the suite, would Akechi mind, it’s been  _ so looooong  _ since she’s been able to see them for longer than a cup of coffee, and she  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t have been swayed by Kurusu’s three popped shirt buttons and strategic position leaning against the counter.)

(Black lace looks good against her skin. She hates that she knows that, and hates even more that she  _ cares. _ She’s not  _ repressed _ , she just doesn’t see the need to fawn over Kurusu and her stupid fucking tits like everyone else does.)

But no. Instead, here she is, crammed into what  _ should have been her own room _ but instead has been mostly taken over by Kurusu and her two giggling girlfriends, while in the room that  _ should  _ have been Kurusu’s three of her male friends will be staying the  _ whole fucking trip. _

It’s barely been ten minutes and Akechi is about to rip her carefully coiffed hair out.

When they’d arrived, Kurusu had apologized with a grimace and said that her friend Okumura (and oh, had Akechi recognized that name and that face) had tried to book another room but they were all sold out, would she mind sharing, they won’t be in her hair too much it’ll just be overnight, and she’d  _ bent over in that v-necked tank top. _

Red looks good on her too. Akechi had been too flustered (and then too infuriated) to deny her, and when she got her footing back it was already too late.

She can deal with this. She’s dealt with worse before as a small, cute female in a male-dominated field. She took their expectations and twisted them, built a brand on being small and cute and when they placed her in their care she  _ shredded them _ . She  _ made  _ them respect her.

Kurusu probably fucked her way into the program, what with the skintight leggings and the four-inch heels and the blood-red lipstick and the way the top buttons of her shirt never seem to close. How else could she have scored above Akechi in the mock exams  _ and  _ the midterms?? She  _ has  _ to be sleeping with someone.

Whatever. She said they’d just be around to sleep, and Akechi has plenty of things to do around the resort herself. A deep tissue hot stone massage, catching the shuttle down into town to visit the bookstore and the cafe, maybe even catch up on some future paperwork. And, of course, the hot springs, divided into male and female sides for everyone’s comfort.

She checks her phone. According to the shuttle schedule, the next bus to town leaves in about ten minutes. “I’ll be heading out now, Kurusu,” she says, rising and draping her light jacket over her shoulders. 

“Have fun, Akechi-chi,” Kurusu calls back, painted lips turned up wide in a cat-smug grin. “How long will you be out?” 

“It depends on how quickly I find my books, I suppose.” Akechi’s a bit caught off guard both by the question and the nickname. “Does it matter?” 

Her grin grows somehow more smug. “Guess not. Have a good trip, see you when you get back. We’ve got a whole segment booked tomorrow on the women’s side for just the four of us, but if you want to visit the hot spring tonight too—” 

“Sure,” Akechi says pleasantly, “we’ll see.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


She spends a pleasant few hours in the village. The bookstore is less well stocked than she’d hoped, but there’s still a few volumes she’s managed to pick up, and a...lovely kitschy little gift shop that she’d picked up a small bottle of perfume in. Nothing she’d ever use, of course, but there’s no sense in playing the tourist without fully acting her part. 

The shuttle for the resort is regular, and the driver the same one that had dropped her off. She makes pleasant, if empty, conversation with him from the seat next to the door, the bus empty but for herself. Everyone else is still in the bigger city another 20 minutes away from here. Perhaps tomorrow she’ll head out there herself and see what she can see.

She tips the driver and heads back to her shared suite, but the second she opens the door she knows something isn’t quite right.

The air isn’t right for an empty suite. Someone is still here. Someone who’s supposed to be here, or someone who’s not?

Her question is answered almost immediately by a noise from her shared room, and her shoulders untense. It’s fine. She’ll just pop in and— 

Half a meter from the door, she realizes two things. One, the door is cracked about halfway open, and two, the noise hasn’t stopped. In fact, it’s getting louder, joined by other noises.

Akechi peeks through the door and blanches.

Kurusu, Sakamoto,  _ and  _ Takamaki are fucking.

Specifically, Takamaki has Sakamoto’s long, tanned, muscular legs up around his waist; he’s rocking leisurely into her, one hand on her stomach, as Kurusu straddles her face and coos sweet nothings at her, both hands buried in her bleached hair. Her ample thighs barely muffle Sakamoto’s pleasured (she can only imagine) noises; that must be what she heard when she came through the door.

It’s like watching a trainwreck. She knows, she  _ knows  _ she should step away, but she’s rooted to the spot, frozen.

Even as she watches Sakamoto’s back arches, and Takamaki grabs her by the hip and plows deeper into her. Her arms go tight around Kurusu’s thighs, white-knuckled fingers digging into the curve of Kurusu’s ass hard enough to leave divots, and even through the muffle of Kurusu’s...muff, Akechi can hear her wailing.

Both Kurusu and Takamaki laugh as Takamaki pulls out and Kurusu swings off, Sakamoto laying there limp and blissful. Her expression is just about as empty as it usually is; Akechi can’t tell if she’s been asphyxiated or if she’s just enjoying the afterglow.

Kurusu says something that Akechi can’t hear, stretching up to kiss Takamaki; he makes a sheepish expression and Kurusu laughs again, her hand falling into his lap to— eugh. Somehow, she still can’t look away, even as Takamaki groans, that model-perfect face creasing into bliss as he spills over her fingers.

By then Sakamoto’s recovered enough to wiggle her way back into the mix. She and Takamaki all but bowl Kurusu over, pressing kisses everywhere as she laughs and laughs and laughs. Akechi stands there and doesn’t move as Takamaki’s fingers press into her, smooth enough to slide in without resistance, wet enough that Akechi can hear it from outside the doorway. She stands there as Sakamoto’s fingers tangle down there too, two cooks at the same pot, and it’s a miracle they’re not messing each other’s rhythm up, but it’s clearly doing something for Kurusu as she wiggles, and gasps, and arches, and cries out.

Somehow, they’re all perfectly positioned for her to see Kurusu’s thick mane of hair haloed out on her pillow, her red, red lips in an “O” that would sell thousands on any camsite, as she goes higher, higher, higher,  _ oh _ — 

Abruptly, Akechi realizes her underwear is  _ drenched. _

She scrabbles back, miraculously not bumping into the table as she escapes back out the door and then leans her back against it, hand at her chest, heart beating ten times as fast as it should in her chest. What?! What sort of fucking  _ heathen—  _ sinful  _ whore—  _ immoral  _ slut—  _ that is a  _ shared room—  _ how can you have  _ two—  _

She doesn't realize her hand is covering her mouth until she bites down, until her cunt throbs again. Disgusting. They’re all disgusting. She  _ won’t  _ be driven out of her  _ own room _ that she  _ won. _ This time when she enters she closes the door hard enough that it bangs behind her. There’s a loud yelp from the bedroom, followed immediately by a burst of laughter; as if they’d just been hanging out and not— not— being  _ indecent  _ in there, the three of them poke their heads out. 

Kurusu is wearing Takamaki’s shirt. Takamaki is wearing Kurusu’s v-neck. Somehow, they both make it work, though the v-neck is more of a crop top on Takamaki and Kurusu’s frankly false-looking breasts strain the shirt to bursting. How she can even fit them in there points to a miracle of modern fabric technology. “Ake-chichi!” she says cheerfully, as if she wasn’t just canoodling in  _ Akechi’s bedroom.  _ “How was your trip?

“My— what?” Akechi blurts, her brain not fully connected to her mouth yet.

“Your trip down into town! Was it crowded?” Kurusu comes fully out of the bedroom. Only then does Akechi realize that all she’s wearing beneath the shirt is a pair of low-waisted, high-cut panties that show off an awful lot more than they conceal. 

It takes more effort than Akechi will admit to drag her eyes away. “...No,” she manages with at least a fraction of her normal composure. “No, most of the vacationers have gone off to the larger town down the mountain. I— if you will excuse me, I’d like to grab some of my things and go freshen up before dinner.” 

At least Takamaki and Sakamoto are fully clothed. She’s already seen far more than she ever wanted to of either of them.

As the night wears on, her metaphorical hackles slick back down. She doesn’t  _ care  _ what sort of sluttery Kurusu gets up to. They thought they would have more privacy. It was a one time deal. It won’t happen again. Kurusu and Sakamoto all but pile into Takamaki’s lap during dinner, and it’s difficult to keep the sneer off her face, but she manages. 

For the most part. Sakamoto and Kurusu are disgusting, giggling and tee-heeing and feeding each other little bits off each other’s plates, with Takamaki chiming in for a morsel every so often. It’s almost unbearable, except for the brief and surprisingly knowledgeable conversation Takamaki shares with her about her designer sweater. If it wasn’t for his two parasites, he’d be a reasonably pleasant conversationalist.

The night passes, and Akechi almost manages to put the incident out of her mind, but during breakfast the next morning she notices Kitagawa rise from the table and Kurusu trail after her. It arouses some mild suspicion and a definite reluctance to head back to their suite, but she left her bag in there and she has plans to head down to the resort town at the foot of the mountain for the morning.

When she walks in, she finds them both on the couch. Kitagawa looks somehow paler than usual, her dark blunt-cut bob in messy disarray around her face, pillowed against Kurusu’s stomach. Her legs dangle off the end; Kitagawa has the height and build any model would dream of, slender and willowy and tall, but her demeanor is impossible. She’s much more tolerable asleep.

Kurusu peeks up at her, folding her book down across her chest to do so. “Forget something?”

“My bag,” Akechi says, holding it up. “Was breakfast that exhausting?”

Kurusu shakes her head. “She has a heart condition, poor thing. It’s rather taxing on her, and very scary. Sometimes she just needs a rest and a friend to be there when she wakes up. How long will you be out?”

“Most of the morning, I suppose.” There’s a slight twinge of guilt low in her chest that she promptly squashes. Kurusu might be a petty slut, but even she isn’t low enough to bring an invalid friend back to their quarters just for a fuck, right? “I had plans to lunch at the cafe.” 

Kurusu nods, and ducks her head back down to her book. Akechi only notices then that she has a pair of reading glasses perched at the tip of her nose. An ostentatious affectation, and one that looks unfortunately good on her face.

With that unwelcome thought simmering in the back of her hindbrain, Akechi leaves.

The town is too crowded for her preference, if she’s being honest. She  _ is  _ something of a minor celebrity— she’s been named the Detective Princess for her work with the Tokyo Police Department and her vlog, and she decides to cut her trip short after one too many people walk up to her asking her for a picture, an autograph, a moment of her time. This was meant to be a  _ relaxing trip,  _ one where she didn’t have to pose and primp for the masses.

One where she  _ didn’t have to walk in on Kurusu fucking her friends. _

It’s happening  _ again. _

She doesn’t know how they don’t hear her walk in, but the second she sees them she freezes, because Kitagawa’s long, pale legs are exposed to the hip, and Kurusu is on her belly between her thighs, both legs up in the air flirtatiously as she focuses on her task with dedication.

Akechi can only tell what’s happening from the way Kitagawa’s voice peaks, one arm flying up to her mouth and then falling slack off the couch, and she feels herself go red from her forehead down to her chest.

_ What the actual fuck!!! _

They’re not even in the  _ bedroom!  _ They’re out here on the  _ couch!!  _ Literally any of their other friends could have come in and seen!! 

Kurusu’s mouth is slick. Akechi can see that much from the light coming in through the window. She wipes her face a moment later with the sleeve of her resort-issued yukata, beaming the whole time. “Feeling better, sweetheart?” she asks, pressing a kiss to Kitagawa’s hipbone.

Akechi doesn’t stay around to hear the answer. She ducks back out through the door, so mad that she feels as though her head is about to pop right off. 

This is the second time in less than twenty-four hours!! She was just with— with  _ two other people!!  _ What the hell does she think she’s doing?!

She can’t meet Kurusu’s eyes at dinner. She can’t even look at her across the table, radiant in the low light and stuffing the local specialty hotpot into her mouth like she’ll die if she doesn’t consume it all within ten minutes. Unlikely, with the amount of meat on her frame.

It’s hard not to pay attention to Kurusu, no matter how much she tries. The bitch just  _ begs  _ for it, with her hair loose and her tits out and her— her—  _ ugh!!! _

Quiet Niijima is the first one to leave the table; Akechi knows at least something of him, since she works with his older sister, and feels as if he would be the least objectionable of Kurusu’s friends to be around if he wasn’t so focused on trying to corral the six of them around like a herding dog. The fact that he leaves first feels significant somehow.

More so when Kurusu is the second one to excuse herself.

It’s suspicious, knowing what she knows about Kurusu’s thottery. Akechi needs to know the facts. She gets into the suite this time without making a sound, the door’s well oiled hinges making it easy to close silently, and her bare feet move without a whisper of noise over the hardwood floor. The door to the girls’ room is closed, but the door to the boys’ room is half open. Akechi can see everything.

Like she’s posed just for her, her yukata open and spilling her breasts out everywhere, her eyes glassy, her red, red lips stretched wide around Niijima’s cock, his hand petting through her hair over and over and over. Even from here, Akechi can see nothing but bliss in her expression.

Sickening. Is this what gets her off, being used for others’ pleasure like some sort of prostitute?! She doesn’t stay to watch them get off. She’d have to kill them both and then herself if they saw her.

 

 

* * *

  
  


It sticks in her mind like a thistle, scratching at and irritating her to no end as she settles into the vast, empty pool of the hot spring. The night air is still chill; thin waves of steam rise from every inch of the water’s surface.

Akechi looks both ways to make sure nobody else is there, and then drops her towel, hurrying into the deepest area of the spring with a gasp. She chose to come first and earliest for a reason; she’s not one for being nude in front of other people for too long, for one.

The fact that she heavily pads her bras, for another.

That’s a secret she’ll take to her grave. Especially in the face of Kurusu  _ fucking  _ Akira and her nonstandard tits. Take them all and leave the rest of us with scraps, huh? Her shoulders hunch further into the water, even as she winces. Her chest has always been sensitive; the hot water is a little overwhelming, though she knows she’ll acclimate.

She’d better, and soon; three other figures burst through the door, immediately recognizable through the steam.

Kitagawa is the first one to step down into the water, discarding her towel next to Akechi’s. Akechi can’t help but get an eyeful of legs that go on forever, a thatch of completely ungroomed hair, the hint of her ribs pressing against her skin, and small, high breasts that somehow still manage to be bigger than Akechi’s own. Her nipples are dark, and— 

Akechi yanks her gaze away, only to land on Sakamoto barrelling into the spring, her towel nowhere to be seen. All she catches is smooth, athletic thighs, a washboard abdomen, and round, perky breasts before a wave of water nearly swamps over her. “Do you  _ mind?”  _ she snaps, huddling away. “There are other people in here!” 

“Ah, sorry, Akechi-chan,” Sakamoto says, not sounding sorry in the least. “Didn’t realize you were there.” 

“Careful not to slip,” Kurusu laughs from the stairs leading down. “You don’t want to—  _ ah.”  _ She’s busy pinning her hair back carefully so it doesn’t soak in the water, but that leaves her no available hand to keep her towel up. Akechi has a front row seat to watch it valiantly struggle, but ultimately lose its fight and sag to the ground, defeated.

Akechi clenches her fists below the waterline, but somehow can’t bring herself to look away. They can’t be real. They  _ can’t.  _ She must have paid for breasts like those somehow, shelled out tens of thousands of yen, maybe even hundreds of thousands. Perhaps if she gets the opportunity she can look closer, find the scars, prove how  _ fake  _ she is, how fake those sinful fucking flesh bags are as they float their way across the spring.

They don’t encroach on her territory and she doesn’t encroach on theirs, letting them hold whatever inane conversation they wish while she tries (and fails miserably) to relax. All she can focus on is the splashing. All she can fixate on is pale skin, tan skin, creamy skin, red lips, catlike grins. Heavy breasts. Curvy figures. Dark hair. Grey eyes.

Akechi growls under her breath and digs her nails into her thighs. What is her fucking  _ problem?!  _ She’s never had to deal with something like this before. Never been burdened with visions of Kurusu fucking Akira stark naked in her head, or with Kurusu fucking Akira stark naked not three meters from her.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there. Long enough to get light headed. Not long enough for the tension to melt from her shoulders. When she opens her eyes, she’s the only one in the spring.

Or— no. Kurusu is directly across from her. Watching her, lips curved up in that grin she hates. “I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep,” she says conversationally, clearly taking Akechi’s looking at her as an invitation to come over. Akechi slits her eyes back shut again, but not all the way. Just enough to watch Kurusu’s progress. Maybe she can see— oh. Oh, she’s getting very close— 

Kurusu’s breasts stop less than half a meter away from her. Akechi loses the fight to keep herself from crossing her arms over her own chest immediately, turning her head away. “Now, now,” Kurusu says with an air of victory. “No need for that, is there? You’ve been staring all night. Do you like what you see?” 

Excuse her?? Akechi snaps her head up, her mouth curling up into a snarl. “That depends,” she says icily. “Do you like being fucked like a common back alley whore?” 

Kurusu grins. 

Kurusu  _ purrs. _

Kurusu steps forward, and her breasts touch Akechi’s crossed arms. “Ohhh  _ yes.  _ Wouldn’t you? All the satisfaction I could ever want at the hands of people I love and trust unconditionally? Why  _ wouldn’t  _ I like that? It seems that you feel somewhat the same way, since you’ve been poking your sneaky little nose in to watch.”

Akechi’s blood turns to ice.“Don’t touch me with your disgusting silicon sacks!” She snaps, because it’s all she  _ can  _ say. Kurusu’s  _ noticed?!  _ And she hasn’t called her out?! Hasn’t even said anything??

“Oh,” Kurusu coos, “but you’ve been looking at them this whole trip! And they’re not silicon.” Her hand grabs Akechi’s, dragging it away from her chest and up to Kurusu’s own. “Feel them for yourself, I don’t mind.” 

They’re soft. Akechi swallows hard, her heart already up in the back of her throat. Disgusting. Her thumb slips across wet skin and she follows the motion, looking for surgery scars, lumps where an implant would have bulged,  _ anything. _

She doesn’t find it. 

She checks the other one, squeezing and mashing them and still all Kurusu does is smirk. They feel nothing like her own do, soft enough that her fingers can dig in all the way to the first knuckle without resistance with a wide firm core. “If they’re not fake,” she demands, ignoring the way her voice has gone high and tight, “then what—” 

“It’s just mammary tissue, Ake-chichi, you’ve got some too—” Akechi feels Kurusu’s hand stretch out and cover her breast almost fully, squeezing what little growth she has. True, there’s a firm bit in there that she’s never paid attention to, but much more alarming is the way that she gasps and straightens from her slump without meaning to, bringing her chest fully out of the water. 

“Oh my god, your tits are so  _ cute, _ I can’t believe you—” Kurusu says, but Akechi’s stopped paying attention, because her fingers have started messing with Akechi’s nipples and it’s taking every fucking bit of concentration she has not to squeal. She’s already over sensitive from the hot water, and Kurusu’s assault is concentrated; she rubs them in circles until they harden, brushes the backs of her fingers and the sides of her thumbs across them, takes them and squeezes them and pinches them until Akechi actually  _ does  _ whine and then Kurusu  _ laughs. _

“What are you  _ doing, _ ” Akechi groans, directly before Kurusu’s mouth descends on her own, in time with the way she rolls both of Akechi’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. She should be grateful, she guesses; if Kurusu’s mouth wasn’t covering her own, her cry would have rang all across the hot spring. Instead it meets an indignant death in Kurusu’s own mouth as Kurusu’s tongue invades her, as Kurusu’s fingers strum across her, as one of Kurusu’s hands rubs down her stomach and touches between the crux of her legs before Akechi snaps her thighs shut.

“It’s cute that you shave all the way,” she murmurs into Akechi’s mouth, her lips dragging across her cheek. “I wouldn’t have expected it from you, Ake-chichi. Let me know if you want to play too, okay? I’d be glad to take you for a ride~” 

Her fingers leave Akechi’s breasts. Her mouth leaves Akechi’s skin. Kurusu leaves the spring, and leaves Akechi panting and quivering, both hands covering her mouth, her chest aching, her cunt throbbing.

When she finally gets herself together and gets back to the room, the other three have bedded down for the night.

Akechi crawls into her futon, her nipples still hard and oversensitive against the inside of her nightshirt, and doesn’t sleep well at all that night.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Around sunrise she gives up pretending to sleep, and spends the next hour or so drinking as much coffee as she can physically consume in an effort to bolster herself for the day ahead of her. She has _things planned,_ damnit! Today’s the massage she’s almost pathetically looking forward to, for one; the tension in her shoulders has progressed to a stiff neck and an ache in the bottom of her skull, though that could be the sleep deprivation combined with all the coffee. Or just Kurusu.

She’s not _thinking about Kurusu today._

One by one, the rest of Kurusu’s clade emerge yawning and tousled and going on with their mornings, even Kurusu herself in what appears to be another stolen shirt that strains at the chest and stops above her belly button. She yawns and scratches at the front of her panties _(gonorrhea,_ says Akechi’s brain spitefully) and vanishes into the other bedroom at the same time that Akechi realises Sakura hasn’t emerged.

She hasn’t seen much of Sakura around; he’s the son of the owner of her favorite cafe, and she’s seen him around there before, but has never spoken to him. That hasn’t changed over this trip; she’s caught him staring at her a couple times, but nothing outwardly distasteful or, honestly, interested in her as more than a person-shaped thing. He’s been mostly absorbed in his laptop, doing something or other.

As of right now, though, he’s sprawled across the bed lazily trading kisses with Kurusu, who left the door wide open as if to taunt Akechi, as if to dare her to watch.

Like Akechi would ever turn down a fight. Akechi _never_ loses. She picks up her coffee mug and locks eyes with Kurusu when she turns her head, taking a long, slow sip.

Kurusu smiles back, wild-eyed and wild-haired, and slithers down the length of Sakura’s body like the sexual she-demon she is.

There’s absolutely no reason she needs to sit here and watch Kurusu shimmy Sakura’s sleeping pants and underwear down to his knees, no reason she needs to sit and watch her take his erection into her mouth. No need to watch her pleasure him skillfully, as if she’s sucked ten thousand cocks today and this is just the latest in line.

She has better things to do with her time.

She drains her mug, and fetches another from the pot, and sits back down at the table. It’s more bitter than her last cup; she forgot to add the cream and sugar. She still drains it as Kurusu produces a bottle of lube from somewhere, as Sakura twists and shivers, his hands flying out to rest on her head.

Her cup is empty.

She fetches another from the pot.

Kurusu meets her eyes over the curve of Sakura’s hip when he cries out, the last droplets of semen splashing demurely across the bridge of her nose when she leans back. Akechi rises, puts her mug in the sink, gathers her belongings, and leaves, all the while trying not to scream.

This whole trip is hell. She should never have let herself be swayed by Kurusu’s fucking tits. Now Kurusu’s tits are fucking their way across the apartment, and Akechi has to go to her deep tissue massage so worked up she could shatter at the slightest touch.

“You sure are carrying a lot of tension up here, miss,” the massage technician tells her blandly. “Lower your shoulders from your ears. If it hurts, it’s for good reason, and you can soak out the rest of it in the hot spring later.”

It’s not _pain,_ Akechi wants to snap, grateful that she’s face-down on the table as the technician’s hands move down to her lower back. If she’d had her own room, if it had just been herself and Kurusu, she could have easily used the privacy to rub out a fast, businesslike orgasm herself. She has to sometimes when the stress gets too much; it’s like performing maintenance on a vehicle, or going to the dentist.

But she _can’t_ because every time she goes back Kurusu is _there,_ fucking another one of her friends. It’s Okumura this time, and he turns to face her with surprise as she walks into the bedroom, letting her gaze pass over them and hoping it looks as dead as she feels inside. “Akira, darling,” he says, “were we meant to have a visitor?”

“Ake-chichi is always welcome to watch,” Kurusu purrs back, and stretches her arms up over her head. Her breasts gain a new and quite appealing curve to them, especially when they start bouncing as Okumura thrusts harder into her, his hands on her hips as she rides them to whatever mutual ending they’re trying to accomplish. “Or join in. All she has to do is say yes~”

There’s nothing that Akechi can say to that that would preserve the amount of dignity she requires in order to keep herself from spontaneously combusting, so Akechi doesn’t say anything at all. Not then, and not when Okumura gasps, and not when Kurusu’s voice floats out through the air and hits her with the force of a wrecking ball.

Why is she _doing_ this to herself?! Why is she letting Kurusu get so far under her skin?! The whore can fuck anything she wants, it’s none of Akechi’s business!

(The memory of clever fingers on her breasts and stroking down her stomach say differently, no matter how much Akechi tries to squash them. She throbs, soaking with need again, and has to go wipe herself down in the bathroom so she doesn’t squelch. For the third time that day.)

Fucking _slut._

Akechi needs a goddamn drink.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Akechi gets a goddamn drink.

Then another.

And another.

And a shot of warm sake, just because.

And one more of those, because she thinks she’s sobering up and she’s not having any of that, not if she’s going to try and get some fucking sleep tonight. She needs to be a lot drunker than she currently is if she wants to, with the way Kurusu sits across the bar from her, her little black dress tight in all the wrong places, looking two wrong jiggles away from spilling out of her plunging v-neck entirely.

Seriously. It goes all the way down to her _navel_ but the edges around her breasts haven’t so much as moved. Fucking….sex demon thot magic. Maybe she hot glued them on. Maybe she has secret….velcro strips in there. Maybe Akechi just didn’t find the zipper when she had her hands on her. Maybe she should go over and pull her aside and make Kurusu show her for real, so Akechi can rub it in her face, and then Kurusu will beg her not to tell her secret, she’ll do _anything,_ and Akechi is so magnanimous all it’d take is Kurusu on her knees, Kurusu’s hands on her again, Kurusu’s sinful fucking mouth finally put to good use—

“You’re staring again, Ake-chichi,” Kurusu says from across the table, leaning so far over Akechi’s a little bewildered that her nipples aren’t on full display. How is the dress staying on?? “Do you really think you need more alcohol?”

“Yes,” Akechi says immediately and defiantly, “I do. One more alcohol, please,” she requests from the bartender with the same smile she’s been smiling this whole night. “Just like the last one, thank you.”

The second he puts the shot glass down in front of her she whips it up to her lips, swallowing in one long blaze of heat and bitter fluid. She sets it down a little harder than necessary. “Perhaps another?”

“Perhaps not,” says Kurusu from beside her— what the fuck when did she get _beside her—_ sliding the shot glass away from her. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“No I’m not,” Akechi says, immediately and defiantly. “The table is holding me up.”

“The table shouldn’t _have_ to hold you up, honey,” Kurusu points out. Akechi hates the pity in her eyes. Is it pity? She can’t really see all that well. “How much water have you had to drink?”

“I don’t need to drink water,” Akechi tells her. “Excuse me! Could I get one more alcoho—”

Kurusu’s fingers slip over her mouth, muffling her. “No, you can _not._ ”

Akechi bites her.

“Ah! Feisty little _shit—”_ it’s a harsh phrase, but Kurusu laughs even as she pulls her hand away. “Go walk to the bathroom and back and then _I_ will buy you another alcohol.”

“Promise?” Akechi asks with deep, deep suspicion. Is this another ploy to get into her pants? Does she care if it is? From the way Kurusu grins at her, she suspects the answers are _Yes_ and _No,_ respectively.

She slips down from her barstool and immediately staggers. “Ah.” The floor is about six inches further than she’d expected it to be, or maybe six inches closer? It’s not level anymore, either, it rocks like the deck of a boat in a storm. Akechi’s never liked the ocean. Once you get too far out you can’t see the bottom, and there’s all sorts of _things_ down there in the abyss. It’s deep enough to drown in. Though technically you can drown in a bathtub as well.

Perhaps she’ll stay and buy her own alcohol. Maybe Kurusu will stay if she buys _her_ an alcohol, and Akechi can sit and contemplate drowning in the abyss of Kurusu’s cleavage instead.

“I don’t need your pity liquor,” Akechi tells her, wobbling her way back up onto her chair. “I have a solid salary working as a contractor for the Tokyo Police Department, I can buy my own alcohols. Alcohol. Alcohols. Liquor. Aha-ha. Liquor is a funny word.”

“I know, honey,” Kurusu says patiently, and moves the shot glass away again when Akechi reaches for it. “Won’t you come to the bathroom with me? I could use an escort. You know, how it’s best to go in pairs?”

Somehow, this makes perfect sense. Maybe it’s the sudden, remarkable pressure of Akechi’s bladder now that she’s made note of it, or the way Kurusu’s lips are the only thing that don’t want to slide out of focus. “If you insist,” she tells her, making her way back down from the barstool.

Somehow, Kurusu’s hand on her arm makes it easier to walk along the shifting floor. She even helps Akechi over to the toilet when she stumbles— there must have been a slick patch, she’s a pro at walking in heels, there’s no way she could have slipped. The sheer relief of relieving herself is heavenly, a weight off her mind and her stomach. It leaves her almost lightheaded, a feeling only exaggerated when she comes out to find Kurusu squeezing her tits together with a calculated look.

“What are you doing?” she blurts out, making her careful way to the sink. The cold water is a shock on her hands, but feels lovely; she pats it onto her overly-warm face as well. “Do you think they’re going to fall off?”

“Still not fake,” Kurusu says, but she’s smiling; Akechi’s positive she’s onto something. Maybe now is the time to lean over and—

She loses her balance when she turns too fast and faceplants directly into Kurusu’s chest. Kurusu’s guffaw is immediate and ugly, undelicate laughter bellowed out from lungs directly beneath Akechi’s head. If she pressed her face forward just a few more inches, she could bite out Kurusu’s heart and be done with everything.

Instead, she mashes her face harder into the line between bare skin and soft fabric. “You smell nice.”

“Aw, honey.” Kurusu’s nails pet through her hair. It feels nice, especially when they trail down to the nape of her neck and Akechi shivers. “You’re _shitfaced.”_

“Uh-huh.” That sounds about right. Her face is on a shitty shitty person. Ergo, shitfaced. “How is your dress staying on?”

At least Kurusu’s laugh is softer this time. “Tape. Double-sided tape.” She hasn’t stopped petting Akechi. It feels nice. “I put it all along the edges here, see?” Now she stops, and Akechi grumbles, doubly so when Kurusu makes her turn her head to watch her explain her devil thot magic. She tugs, and the fabric doesn’t move. Clearly it’s Akechi’s duty to do it properly. Her fingers poke between Kurusu’s, prodding along the line between flesh and fabric. “What are you doing?” Kurusu asks, like it isn’t obvious. Akechi doesn’t deign to explain, still searching for a weak point. “Ake-chichi, we’re in a public bathroom.”

“I’m exposing your lies. Don’t move.” Maybe here? There’s a little gap there, just enough for her to wiggle a finger into. Ha. Nipple. Or _is it???_ “Found your zipple.”

“Zipple?”

“Zipple nipper. Nip— nipper zipple. No. Zip. Per. Nip. Ple. Pull it and all your lies come out. Like a clown hat.”

Her laugh is pretty. It sounds nice. If Akechi wasn't so fixated on exorcising the demon tape, she'd pay more attention. But she _really_ wants access to the zipple.

“Ake-chichi, listen. Wouldn't this be more comfortable in our room?” Kurusu says, her fingers digging into Akechi's hair hard enough to make her moan. “Where you can lie down and do….whatever this is that you're trying to do?”

Akechi cocks her head to the side a bit (not incidentally pressing her face firmer into the soft squish of Kurusu’s chest) and considers the option. Lying down would feel good, it’s true; she’s not dizzy, but definitely lightheaded. The option of another alcohol pales in comparison to Kurusu offering herself up like a buffet before her, so Akechi can expose her.

She wiggles her finger against the zipple again and hums. “You will remove the thot tape,” Akechi tells her firmly. “It is a, a crime against what nature intended.”

By the time they get back to the suite Akechi’s become much more well acquainted with Kurusu’s chest, having spent most of the walk with one or both hands on her tits. Her heels vanished halfway down the hall. Kurusu helped her take her hair out of her pins when she started complaining about it, tying it up in a loose ponytail to expose the back of her neck. She’s sweaty and overheated, but Kurusu won’t let her open her blouse any further, even though Kurusu’s starkers all the way down to her tummy. Why can’t Akechi be, too? Is it because she doesn’t have any thot tape? That’s not _fair._

Their room is quiet and still and dark and empty. There’s no one there until Akechi gets there. Kurusu finally lets her open her shirt all the way, helps her wrangle her skirt down her hips, her stockings; she combs her hands through Akechi’s hair again and braids it back off her face, quickly and skillfully.

Then, instead of sitting down with her tits in front of Akechi’s face like Akechi wants, she kisses Akechi on the forehead and pulls the covers up to her neck. “Why don’t you rest a little, honey?” she says, already moving away.

No, no no no no _no._ She reaches out with a clumsy hand and snags the back of her dress. “Aren’t you,” she starts, a little muffled; she doesn’t get to finish before Kurusu starts shaking her head.

“Ake-chichi,” she says almost tenderly, “you’re _shitfaced_. I’m not going to fuck you when you can’t even sit up straight.”

“I can!” Akechi tells her immediately. It’s a struggle, but she hefts herself upwards, balancing carefully on both palms, her shirt gaping open. Her bra is padded and itches. She snaps the clasp on front open and struggles to take them both off, shivering in the cool air.

Kurusu’s fingertips land on her collarbone, exerting just enough pressure that Akechi sinks backwards, back into the pillows. “So you can,” she says, sounding amused. “You won’t let me leave?”

“No,” Akechi pouts. “Touch me.”

“So _forward.”_ Kurusu’s fingertips stroke across her collarbone, her jaw, the line of her throat and her shoulders, and Akechi sighs from the tips of her toes up through her chest. “Where do you want me to touch you, then?”

Using her words is too difficult. Akechi curls her fingers around Kurusu’s wrist and drags those soft, smooth fingertips over to her nipple. It’s already pebbled and hard from the cold; Kurusu’s touch is a jolt of sensation that makes her gasp and arch upwards. “Cute,” Kurusu says, running the backs of her knuckles across it, then the side of her thumb. “Why are your tits so cute, Ake-chichi?”

She doesn’t sound like she expects an answer, and Akechi doesn’t have it in her to give one as it is. All her attention is fixated on the way Kurusu’s fingers trail up and down the divot in between her breasts and over to give the other one some attention, pinching and circling and rubbing and licking the pad of her thumb and touching again and Akechi’s whining, squirming, rubbing her thighs together, arching up into the touch, and Kurusu ducks her head and opens her mouth like she’s about to—

The door to the room opens, letting light spill out from the suite beyond, and Kurusu pulls back, and pulls the covers up over Akechi again with a sigh. She kisses Akechi’s forehead. “Try and rest up some, honey, or else you’re going to have the world’s worst hangover tomorrow.”

And she _gets up and walks over to the door._

Akechi can’t even move, so stunned and betrayed and _consumed with lust_ that she’s frozen in place as Kitagawa’s deep voice comes from the doorway, Kurusu answering her quietly enough that Akechi can’t make out the words. She might not have been able to make out the words even if Kurusu was right beside her; the pound of her pulse in her ears is almost overpowering.

Just not overpowering enough to block out the sounds that start happening when Sakamoto comes in as well.

She’s nothing but a shadow in the door letting too much light in, until Kurusu greets her, getting up and crossing the room to loop her arms around her neck. Akechi can’t see too much of what they’re doing with her blanket folded in the way, and she doesn’t want to draw attention (Sakamoto’s attention, at least. _Kurusu’s_ attention can come back anytime, what with the way her entire body throbs for attention. She lifts a clumsy hand to touch her chest, but it’s just not the same.)

(Still feels good, though. Her fingers stroke back and forth, back and forth, trying to mimic the pressure of Kurusu’s touch.)

Kurusu and Sakamoto fetch up on Sakamoto’s futon, two shadowy forms tangled mostly into one beast. There’s hushed giggling and low whispers that turn into lower, wetter noises, like mouths on mouths, and dry noises like the rustle of clothing. More giggling; a gasp, a low purr from Sakamoto; shallow breathing that turns to panting that turns to groans, a wet, slick noise that grows faster and louder and Kurusu _moans—_

“Either get off or get out,” Kitagawa says grumpily, rolling over in her own futon beyond the two of them.

Sakamoto makes a guilty noise. “Aw, Yusuke, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up— she’s almost done, can we finish?”

“Please let me finish—” Kurusu says, strangled, then _“_ ohhh, Ryuji, right there there _there_ —” followed by a long, low, drawn-out groan, and a sigh, and a moment of silence. “Mmmmm. Okay. C’mere, Yuyu, let us make it up to you.”

She and Sakamoto flop over, dark shadows in a dark room; Kurusu kisses the side of Kitagawa’s head just as Sakamoto ducks down, startling a noise from her.

Akechi can see even less now, but the three of them aren’t paying any attention to her at all; she stealthily squirms, twisting just a bit until she can see pale skin and a yukata being tossed across the room, Sakamoto’s dyed hair half-vanishing between Kitagawa’s thighs.

Kurusu hasn’t moved. Her hand is at Kitagawa’s chest, and Akechi feels a flashburn of jealousy ignite. Why did she leave? Why didn’t she finish? She called Akechi’s breasts _cute_ but she’s over there, fondling Kitagawa instead?? It’s not fucking _fair._ Her hand clamps down on her breast; her free hand trails down between her own thighs, slip-sliding right down to where it feels best.

Kitagawa moans, and Kurusu laughs, and Akechi’s so wet she could fucking die, so wet her thighs stick together, so wet her fingers slide into herself with no resistance and she trembles when she brushes past her clit, and she moves in sync with the bobbing of Sakamoto’s head, with the imagined lapping of her tongue, and it feels so good she could cry—

But she can’t get off. She crests and she peaks and she still can’t get off, not even when Kitagawa makes a loud cry and Kurusu laughs and pulls Sakamoto back up into her lap, kissing her messily as her fingers piston in and out between her thighs, as Sakamoto giggle-squeals louder than the other two combined, shameless in her pleasure, as Kurusu drags it on and on and on like she finds Sakamoto’s inane wailing _funny_ , as if she finds Akechi’s inability to come _funny._

Eventually the kissing stops, the wet noises stop, Sakamoto stops wailing like a bitch in heat and crawls into her own futon. Kurusu  leaves. Kurusu comes back. Kurusu brushes past Akechi’s futon on the way to her own, just enough that the fabric of her blanket brushes against both of her exposed nipples, and Kurusu pauses.

Kurusu crouches.

Kurusu crawls into Akechi’s futon instead of her own, knocking into the arm attached to the hand stuffed into her underwear, and _laughs_ . Under her breath, soft and intimate right beside Akechi’s ear. “Oh, _honey,”_ she breathes, dragging Akechi’s hand out and replacing it with her own, cool on Akechi’s overheated skin. “You should have said something.”

“You stopped—” Akechi grits out, strangled and whiny, and Kurusu kisses her before she can finish, shoves her tongue into her mouth and wrestles her underwear down so she can slick her fingers back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until Akechi squirms again. Her lips trail down, impossibly plush. She presses kisses down the line of Akechi’s throat, down her collarbone, down her chest. Her mouth closes over one of Akechi’s nipples as two fingers stretch her open, slick inside of her, immediately followed by a third.

There’s no possible way Akechi can stay quiet.

Even her breathing is broken and ragged and loud and harsh, and that’s before Kurusu’s tongue presses against her nipple and before her fingers start thrusting in and out, lewd wet squelching noises barely audible above the way Akechi whines, the way Kurusu keeps wrenching noises out of her when her tongue flicks hot and wet against her nipple, when she sucks on it and brushes Akechi’s clit with the side of her thumb, pistoning into her so fast and hard that all she can hear is the noise of her heart and the noise from her cunt and her own whines—

And then Kitagawa says, loud and clear and cranky, “Akira, _please.”_

And Kurusu _stops._

Her fingers stop. Her mouth stops. She pulls up, and away, and out of Akechi, leaving her achy and teetering on the edge of an orgasm denied _again_. “Sorry, honey,” she says with one last open-mouthed kiss, one last stroke across her clit that has Akechi convulsing. “Maybe we can play tomorrow.”

Her fingers, wet with Akechi’s own slick, press against Akechi’s bottom lip as she gets up and slides into her own futon.

Akechi is going to kill this fucking slut and enjoy every second of it.

 

* * *

 

  
  
(But not before she gets the orgasm she _demands._ )

Akechi is not leaving this fucking resort without getting off.

She wakes up exhausted, so hungover her brain pounds on the space behind her eyes demanding she close them again, still so horny she all but squelches when she moves. She’s pissed beyond measure, dry-mouthed and nauseated and still so turned on that all of those things are ignorable.

She’s always been a light sleeper. Sakamoto rising wakes her up, and Kitagawa’s grumpy departure keeps her up, but Kurusu’s quiet humming as she stretches and cracks her back is what makes Akechi sit up, scrubbing her hands through her hair and the sleep from her eyes.

The sunlight makes the room cold and harsh. Somehow, Kurusu is still attractive, even with bedhead and making the most abominable faces. It’s probably the fact that her tits are out on full display as she strips her sleep shirt off. She’s sleek, all toned muscle with the most ridiculous curves Akechi’s ever seen.

She hates her _so much._ Thot. Wench. Thirsty fucking…..sex-haver. How dare she wander around with her breasts out like that. How dare she be naked under her clothes. How dare she _exist._

Kurusu turns around. Akechi locks eyes with her.

There’s inevitability in the tackiness between her thighs and the curve of Kurusu’s lips and the heft of her breasts, the gentle sway they make as Kurusu walks over and crouches beside her futon. “Morning, Ake-chichi,” she says, all white teeth and red lips (how are they still so red) and soft pale skin and fingers like claws reaching to stroke through her hair. “Sleep well?”

“No,” Akechi says, trying to put all the bitterness she feels into the word. It doesn’t come across like she wants it too, she’s still way too worked up; instead it comes out breathy, like a sigh of anticipation.

“A shame.” One finger trails down her forehead to boop Akechi on the nose. “They’ve got coffee brewing in the kitchen, want me to bring you some?”

Does she want some fucking coffee?? (Well, yes, she does, but she wants Kurusu to stop being a teasing whore for once in her slutty, slutty life and give Akechi what she’s been dangling over her for _ages_ right **_now._ **)

At Akechi’s glare she laughs, low and dark and still a little husky from sleep. “Or is there something else you wanted?”

Instead of using her words like a big girl, Akechi rises up to her knees and yanks Kurusu down to her level to kiss her.

It’s bruising and hard, there are too many teeth and too much tongue involved but it’s okay because Kurusu laughs into her mouth and presses her backwards, presses her down into the softness of her futon like she’s been craving for days (weeks, months, if she’s being honest with herself, which she’s _not.)_ Her hands grab onto Kurusu’s shoulders, greedily palming over bare skin, down to her elbows, inwards to both breasts, soft and heavy and infuriating, she’d rip them right off if she could. She squirms, wriggles, tries to get Kurusu closer, tries to get her hands on her again, but Kurusu pulls back, sets her teeth into Akechi’s bottom lip as a warning when she tries to chase her.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she says, eyes alight with something that looks like victory, “I brought something just for you. You sit here and don’t move. I’ll take care of you.”

The thing that Kurusu digs out of her luggage is at once horrifying and so arousing Akechi feels herself get wetter just by looking at it. It’s bulbous in the back and juts out long and proud in the front, and it’s a shade of red that looks frankly mouthwatering next to Kurusu’s bare skin. Kurusu does something with the one end, slicking her fingers along her cunt with a sigh that sends tingles down Akechi’s spine and then just….popping it in, and it _stays_ there, proud as any proper erection.

If Kurusu doesn’t get on with it, Akechi is going to spontaneously combust. She’s red down to her chest, breaths coming in shallow pants; she’s never been this worked up in her goddamned life, not from some light petting and a bit of kissing (and more than 48 hours of sexual harassment).

Kurusu gets down on the futon again, the...thing swaying obscenely in between her legs as she parts Akechi’s own. Her underwear is still gone from last night. She’s completely exposed.

“Aw, honey, no, don’t cover your face,” Kurusu says. Akechi feels her fingers stroke between her thighs, pushing them farther apart as she pets her. “I want to see you.”

She doesn’t give Akechi time to reply, her fingers pressing into her again, stroking in and out, in and out, her thumb pressing down on her clit until Akechi squirms, until she gasps and bucks up into the touch.

And then with no other warning she grabs one of Akechi’s legs and hikes it over her shoulder, pressing the toy between her legs in and in and _in—_

It’s slick and foreign and fills her more than she’s ever been filled before and Akechi _yells_ , her nails digging into Kurusu’s shoulders, and then again as Kurusu’s free hand strokes up her stomach and to her chest, rolling her thumb across her nipple as she thrusts slow and steady and even. It’s like nothing Akechi’s ever felt— she’s only ever used her fingers, and rarely inside, and the unyielding pressure takes her breath, her speech, her ability to think.

Kurusu pauses for a moment, reaching back behind herself until— “Ah, there we are—” and the previously still pressure inside her starts vibrating. She doesn’t have time to react to it before Kurusu drives up into her so hard she sees stars.

There’s no gentleness, nothing slow or sweet or tender about the way Kurusu fucks her. It’s hard and fast, a furious pace that drives everything out of her mind but the way it feels, strung out between Kurusu’s toy between her legs and Kurusu’s hand on her nipple and Kurusu’s hair brushing against her and Kurusu’s tits squished between them.

It feels like it goes on forever, an eternity of mind-boggling hedonism. Kurusu parts her thighs as far as they’ll go and fucks her hard, hard, harder, _harder_ until Akechi howls with every breath, until she has the sheets below her balled up in both fists— when that’s not enough she digs them into her hair and pulls as hard as she can, trying to fuck back up onto her, pushed higher and higher and higher, fuck, Kurusu, Kurusu—

Kurusu presses forward until their hips meet, until she can feel the toy buzzing farther inside of her than anything was ever meant to go, grabs her by the ass and drags her up and tilts her just right and Akechi comes so hard she sees stars.

It’s explosive. It’s like nothing she’s ever felt before. Her nails dig in so hard that Kurusu grunts, still rocking into her even though she’s oversensitive and shaking. She doesn’t even have enough space to come down before Kurusu bares her teeth and rocks back onto her heels, dragging Akechi’s thighs up to splay across them in a lewd display she can only imagine.

She’s still coming when Kurusu hunches forward, puts her thumb on her clit, and fucks back into her just as hard.

It’s too much, it’s too much all at once, she can’t get away, it feels like fire, she seizes up around the toy and Kurusu pulls her up by the thigh and it’s too much too soon she comes again so hard it _hurts,_ so hard she curls up like a pillbug around herself and Kurusu finally fucking stills and moans and trembles above her, hips jerking back and forth just enough to keep Akechi strung up higher than she’s ever been before.

Maybe she blanks out for a while, because when she comes back to herself it’s to the unique sensation of Kurusu easing out of her, centimeter by long, slick centimeter. She feels empty afterwards, like she’d been meant to go the rest of her life with that thing in her guts.

She’s shaking. The aftershocks still feel like static in her cunt. She’s numb, numb and oversensitized all at once, and whines when Kurusu’s fingers curl into her like she’s testing something. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because she pulls out and wipes her hand on Akechi’s sheet.

She bends over and kisses Akechi on the forehead, leaving her still spread-eagle and panting. “That was fun, Ake-chichi,” she says with a smile. “You should have told me you’d be such a little hellcat in the sack, I’d have jumped you ages ago.”

Akechi doesn’t have anything to say to that. Not then, and not when Kurusu gets up and leaves, raw red lines tracing from her shoulders down to her waist.

Not then, and not later, when the other three are packing up their bags and trinkets, idle chatter and laughter filling the air and Kurusu’s smug, proprietary grin beaming her way with the force of a floodlight.

Not then, and not when Kurusu insists on a photo with everyone in front of the resort before they leave, squeezing Akechi in between herself and Sakamoto and making Akechi’s core throb with the memory of her toy inside her.

Not then, and not later on the train home, when Kurusu insists on sitting beside her and won’t stop _touching_ her, her fingers on her shoulder, the back of her neck, the side of her arm, the small of her back.

She can’t sit still. Her cunt is still throbbing, sore and sensitive and well fucked in a way she’s never been and might never be again, and every time she squirms in her seat Kurusu’s grin gets wider. She can’t take her mind off it, like picking at a hangnail, like ripping a scab off long before it’s ready.

Does everyone know? Did she tell them? Is that why they keep looking at her? Does this entire train somehow know that Kurusu _fucking_ Akira reduced her to a screaming pile of flesh not eight hours earlier?

She must have told them. Fucking _slut,_ criminal _whore,_ how _dare_ she sully Akechi’s good name along with her own?!

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She refuses to look at it until she’s off the train and back in her apartment, Kurusu and her unholy sex clade left kilometers behind.

It’s a text from an unknown number. All it says is _call me if you ever want to play again (;._

Akechi almost crushes her phone in her hand, almost hurls it across the length of the apartment, can visualise with perfect clarity the spray of plastic and glass and electrical components fanning outward. She thinks about changing her number. She thinks about leaving the city and never returning. She thinks about finding Kurusu and putting a gun to her head. She thinks about finding Kurusu and Kurusu laying her down and—

She doesn’t throw her phone. She doesn’t do any of those things.

Instead, she sits in her apartment until it goes dim, then dark, until the square of her phone screen is the only source of light.

She looks at it for a long, long time, as the screen lights and dims and lights again, the battery indicator dropping notch by notch by notch.

Then Akechi takes a deep breath, and lifts the phone to her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know where to find me ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> my twibbers are: [caanticle is my sfw twitter](https://twitter.com/caanticle)  
> [cantiafterdark is my nsfw twitter, and i don't allow anyone who doesn't have a clear birthdate/age in their profile to follow!](https://twitter.com/cantiafterdark) i do an awful lot of yelling about these pwp bullshitteries on my nsfw twitter if you're ever curious as to what in god's name inspires me to get on this dumb bullshit in the first place


End file.
